


Moment's Silence

by LittleSpacePrince



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Trans, Bottom Will Graham, FTM Will, FTM Will Graham, KFC Finger Lickin Good, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Smoking, Top Hannibal Lecter, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Will, Trans Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 22:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16128329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpacePrince/pseuds/LittleSpacePrince
Summary: Based off of Tumblr Prompt: Post-WotL Will is ready for their relationship to get sexual but he’s too nervous/embarrassed to ask for or initiate it, and Hanni is worried if he pushes things Will will reject him and it will ruin everything. So instead of communicating like adults Will decides to be increasingly provocative to tempt Hanni into action, and Hanni is losing his damn mind with all the teasing until Will hits on something that finally breaks his resolve and all their pent-up sexual frustration explodes





	Moment's Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Link to prompt:
> 
> <https://hannibalficprompts.tumblr.com/post/177842503483/post-wotl-will-is-ready-for-their-relationship-to>  
> 
> 
> By no means an exact fill. But I, in actuality, have very little control of what I write. 

Will couldn’t remember the fall. 

He remembered the water taking him under, pulling him deeper until the stars faded from the skies above and the darkness swallowed them whole. 

He remembered the breath returning to his lungs and a gasp of glorious life. Blue eyes shot open wide to find the stars precisely where they had been left, twinkling in the void above.

He had vaguely registered the rhythmic pumping of Hannibal’s hands forcing the beat back into his heart. Hands against his chest, reviving him in the sand. Hannibal’s lips must have met his at some point, but he could not remember. There was a buzz against the sensitive flesh, some ghost of what might have been, but there was nothing that he could remember. Not really. 

He remembered the revelation of new life on the run with Hannibal Lecter. He remembered the moment of enlightenment when he realized that there was no return to what had once been. He remembered the moment that he decided that he was in love with the devil himself. 

Each moment, each revelation happened in one moment. Hannibal’s hands stilling against his chest, touch lingering just a moment longer than they needed to. Wet sand clung to his flesh, and saltwater burned violently in the gash in his cheek. Blood still stained his hands, his face, his neck. Hannibal’s eyes filled with something between love and relief gazing down at him, cautious hands reaching up to brush away a curl that clung to his forehead. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the stars and the void. 

He lay against the floor of a boat, staring up at the same stars six weeks later. He could feel the rocking of waves and the buzz of alcohol still in his head, gently lulling him toward sleep, but he found that he could not. 

Hannibal had kissed him. 

Or maybe he had kissed Hannibal. He couldn’t quite remember, had been under the influence of an old bottle of scotch when it had happened. It had happened in a blur of conversation and stargazing, quiet and soft and warm. 

Hannibal’s lips tasted like the scotch, with hints of wine from dinner. They were soft, gentle against his mouth, the whole thing nearly chaste. Fingers pulled through his curls, firm against his neck, keeping Will close against his chest. Will could feel his heart beating just beneath his palm, quickening in his ribcage as he pulled closer, tugging him closer, closer… 

He had decided in the moment that he was ready for it. Sex had never been on the table until that moment, a strict and unspoken prohibition. But breaths intertwined and hearts beating in sync left him wanting, until he hiked a leg over Hannibal’s hip, drawing himself closer… 

Hannibal pulled away quickly after that. Something muttered about sober consent, quiet conversations continuing on until they were half asleep, as though nothing had happened to begin with. 

Will shifted slowly, turning to find Hannibal fast asleep. On his back, one hand tucked beneath his head, the other resting against his thigh. He looked composed even in his sleep, perfect gentleman even when nobody else was watching. 

The idea of sex didn’t leave his mind as quickly as it oftentimes did. There were occasional fleeting thoughts, flashes and ideas, imagination run wild. The idea of being pinned against the wall and fucked like an animal, the idea of those lips moving with expert skill around his cock. But he never allowed them to last, never allowed them to stay for more than a moment or two, deciding that any venture into the physical would be unwise. 

He’d spent years convincing himself that he bore no more than hate for Hannibal Lecter. Every action for three years was in some attempt at spite, existence only for the sake of pissing him off. He tossed the letters into the fireplace, married a woman, took in a child. Years spent convincing himself that he held nothing but contempt for him. 

Years spent hopelessly lying to himself. 

What they had was something more akin to twisted obsession than to love. But it mattered little, the two conjoined at the very soul, neither strong enough to survive separation. 

But the connection had only ever gone down to the soul, and never further. He promised himself that it would never venture further than intellect and spirit, that he would never allow Hannibal to touch his body. Too reckless, too dangerous, too foolish to allow such imaginings to penetrate through the bone arena of his skull. 

But in the way that Hannibal kissed him, he had made an addict of him. A junkie seeking his next fix, of something harder, something even more intoxicating than the scotch on their tongues. He wanted conjoinment and consummation in the most primal of ways. 

Gazing across at the man beside him, he wondered how easy it would have been to inch closer. To straddle his legs and to claim his lips, to rouse him from sleep and be taken by him. It would have been easy, to make love beneath the stars and find consummation of the more physical sort in time with the rocking waves. 

But he didn’t. 

It would come eventually. It would come in time, and Hannibal would slip between his legs and make love to him, again and again. Consummation and sex and touch would come with time, he was certain. But he would not be the one to pursue it. He would wait until it came to him. 

He could wait, certainly. Or, if nothing else, Hannibal would be unable to hold out much longer. He’d been waiting for years for such an opportunity. Part of him wondered how he entertained himself all those years spent behind glass walls. He wondered if Hannibal ever touched himself. Will wondered if he ever thought about him when he did it. 

He inhaled sharply, feeling his cock twitching in his jeans at the very thought of it. The thought of Hannibal sprawled against his bed, that white jumpsuit undone all down the front, a hand on his cock as he stroked himself. The guards would be able to watch him, but he would have little regard for them. Or perhaps he would welcome their watching eyes, put on a show for them. He had always been something of an attention whore… 

Will gulped down hard, half tempted to roll over right then. He could faintly make out the outline of Hannibal’s cock through his slacks in the moonlight. It wouldn’t be hard to undo the button, to pull his cock free, suckle at the head until he was hard against his tongue. Hannibal would stir, wake to the wet heat of Will’s mouth before turning him over and… 

But Will didn’t dare touch. He would keep his distance. He would wait. He could wait, just until Hannibal broke and touched him first. He would wait until Hannibal touched him first. 

But he could always watch until then. 

He might not be able to touch Hannibal, but he could always touch himself. 

Hannibal would undoubtedly consider him to be terribly rude, such actions reprehensible to even the commonfolk. Such actions were hardly socially acceptable, but they were far past what was socially acceptable. He could still feel the tugging of sensitive flesh scarring against his cheek, and the blood had stained his skin for nearly a week. They were well past the rules of social acceptability.

Will slipped his hand beneath the waistband of his jeans, pressing up against the palm of his hand, grinding against himself as his cock began to harden. He felt himself twitch hard, his eyes turning to the sleeping form next to him. He wondered what those lips would feel like, closed against his cock, suckling at the head… 

He rarely touched himself like this. Rarely touched himself at all. It had been years since he’d been so horny that he couldn’t channel it into anything else, so horny that he’d been reduced to rutting against his own palm. 

But thumb sweeping over the head of his cock, he remembered all of the things that he wanted. All of the times that he had wanted this and more. All of the times that he had imagined Hannibal’s hands squeezing hard against his hips, cock hard in his slacks as he rubbed himself against Will’s thigh. He imagined Hannibal slamming him against the desk in his office, sweeping aside everything, unable to contain himself long enough to take him somewhere more appropriate. He imagined his mouth on him, opening him, making way before his cock plowed into him, until he was positively ruined… 

He settled himself against the wooden planks, hand moving quickly, obscenely through his jeans. Hannibal could have woken up at any given moment to see him pleasuring himself, face contorted up in his pleasured agony. What he would have given for Hannibal to rouse from sleep to watch him only for a moment before rolling over top of him.

Hannibal would force his legs to spread wide, hands pressing his knees to apart as he stripped him bare. He would use fingers and tongue to spear him open, slicking him up with nothing but his spit. He would spear his tongue into his body, fingers following suit, scissoring him open, pressing against the sensitive nub tucked inside of his body. Will would moan and squirm, voice echoing across oceans and seas, twitching and contracting around his fingers as they spread him. 

Will could practically feel it as his strokes picked up speed, a whine strangled in his throat. Hannibal would prop the head of his cock at his opening, the head slick with pre-come, leaking copiously as he gave himself a few cursory pumps. His eyes would be like a predator stalking its prey, just before the pounce, hungry and carnivorous, aching to be sheathed inside of his body… 

And then he would push. 

Will came silently, biting hard against his fist, eyes clenched shut as he forced back a whimper. His cock sputtered and twitched with his pleasure until he fell lax against the splintering wooden boards. 

Hannibal was still asleep, unstirred by the choked breaths and strangled moans. 

Will rolled over, just a bit closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel his presence vibrating in his skin, just barely out of reach. He inhaled slowly before letting out a contented sigh, suddenly exhausted, the buzz in his head turning to static as it pulled him into the dark. 

It pulled him into the dark just as a smirk crossed Hannibal’s lips.

~~~~

Will lay sprawled against filthy sheets, reeking of sweat and sex and detergent, like no amount of washing could get them clean. It was one of those rundown places with no cameras, cash only, no questions asked. One of those places that screamed adultery. For a moment, Will wondered if the bored-looking teenager that had checked them in had thought that was what their business was here. If he figured that the handsome doctor and his anxious friend were lovers, hiding from wives and family to soil the sheets even further.

The scent of sex was intoxicating, and he wondered why he wasn't having any. 

This had been their lives for quite some time now. Skipping town, cheap motels, with scant regard for the lives that they had been accustomed to living. They lived on what cash they could muster, occasionally dipping into secret funds that Hannibal had managed to keep beneath the police’s radar. They never stuck around one place for too long, for fear of being spotted. Their faces plastered all over the evening news, it was best to keep roots close to the chest, never allowing them to grow too deep. 

It was Canada, first. They stayed to the outskirts of cities, where population was smaller, police presence more sparse. They stuck to the seedy motels off the sides of highways until their wounds healed, places where blood-stained bed sheets would go largely unnoticed, dismissed as commonplace. They survived on shitty room service with a sign on the door, instruction to the waitstaff to leave the food outside. It was a step down from wine and chianti, but it was sustenance. 

The next three weeks had been spent at sea. It was nothing that Will couldn’t appreciate, watching the rolling waves and the wind within their sails. Reminders of the time spent following him to the four corners of the earth. This time was a little more lively, at least. Conversation in place of hours spent listening to the waves. There were bouts of arguments, mostly ending in Will’s screams echoing across the water before storming off to cool down. There were conversations of philosophy and gods of old, of their roles in the world and where to venture onward from there. 

And then, of course, there was the kiss. 

Quiet, gentle, and abruptly ended without so much as a word of it in the aftermath. Hannibal didn’t speak of it, and Will was unsure of how to bring it up again. It was as if nothing had ever even happened, forgotten beneath the buzz of scotch, leaving Will to question whether or not it had even happened in the first place. 

And here they had landed. Cuba, in another shitty motel, in a room that had harbored secret love affairs, in a bed that had the scent of sex and sweat and semen ingrained in the very fabric. 

In a room where the scent of sex hung in the air, it felt almost wrong to be denying himself such pleasures. 

It had been weeks since Will had decided that he was ready for some physical level of intimacy. Weeks with subtle clues and naggings, subtle persuasions and temptations. But sex hadn’t even entered into the equation. 

He would have figured that Hannibal would have ventured into it by now. Some curious touch, a brush of fingertips over his thighs, some quiet move made to arouse him. Certainly he would bring it up in passing conversation, in the form of some pretentious metaphor. But there was nothing. 

So there was silence and avoidance surrounding the most primal of urges, the most animalistic of needs. Even in subtle attempts, Hannibal always knew how to twist the conversation into territories less dangerous. There was a line drawn in the sand, and it was utterly uncharacteristic of him to make no attempts at crossing it. 

And goddamn, was it ever-increasingly frustrating. 

Will couldn’t even get off these days, the rub and tug of his cock in the shower never enough to satisfy anymore. Even in constructed walls of his memory palace, even in places where fantasy ran wild, he couldn’t get himself there. His fingers weren’t enough to finish anymore. Even watching him while he slept, masturbating silently beside him, had lost its thrill. It wasn’t enough. Hannibal had made him an addict, and immunities were building up quickly. He wanted something more.

He wanted to feel the friction between his thighs. He wanted Hannibal’s tongue pressed against him, wanted to feel those lips sucking against his length. He wanted to feel Hannibal getting hard against his thigh, rutting up against him like an animal as they kissed. He wanted to feel Hannibal’s length press inside of him… 

_Fuck._

Will shifted uncomfortably, rolling onto his back, alleviating the pressure against his stiffening length. A hand slipped into his jeans with intentions of merely adjusting himself, though one half-curious tug led to another. Even as he listened to the water shutting off from the shower and the sound of footsteps across tile floors, he stroked himself beneath his jeans, keeping an eye on the door. 

Risky behavior begat risky behavior. Risks such as running away with a known fugitive. Risks such as falling in love with the devil himself. Risks and risks, this one wasn’t so big in the long run. 

He let his fingers sweep gently over the head before pulling back down, dipping down and slicking his shaft. He undid the button of his jeans with his free hand, allowing for easier access. He could imagine Hannibal’s hands there instead, firmly cupped against his sex before teasing at his cock. Maybe he would dip his head between his thighs and suck, tongue sweeping over his cockhead, down the shaft, engulfing him until there was nothing but the tight, wet heat of his mouth… 

Of course, he couldn’t just _ask_ for it. 

How could one go about asking such things? How could one initiate such conversations of sex and lust and initiation of touch? How could he dare make such a leap? 

He could tease at it. He could tempt. He could draw him in closer and closer, but he couldn’t risk such directness. There was always the chance that Hannibal simply didn’t want him in that way. Perhaps the love that Bedelia had described penetrated only as far as the soul, never wandering into areas of sexuality and physicality. 

But there were easier ways of going about these things. Riskier ways, but easier ways. 

He had been trying for nearly two weeks to provoke him, to draw him in, to force his hand and drive him wild, and nothing had worked. Hannibal was a man of self-control and self-indulgence, depending upon the day. And thus far, there had been no give in his control. Surely, something would’ve worked. Walking around with nothing but boxers, masturbating just a little too loudly in the shower, suggesting that they stick to one-bed motels. Nothing had worked. Nothing had even come close.

But this couldn’t be denied. This, surely, would force something. Some reaction, positive or negative. At least he would have his answer. 

He let out a breathy moan as he swept his thumb over the head of his cock, feeling himself hardening against his palm. His hardening cock ached and begged for friction, desperate for release as he bucked up against his own hand. He would’ve preferred Hannibal’s deft fingers around him, or his tongue swallowing him whole… 

His fantasies were usually fairly tame, at first. Hannibal’s fingers trailing down his flesh, slowly stripping him bare before dipping between his thighs, fingers and tongue torturously working around him until he spent in his mouth. Will would return the favor, strip him down slowly, exploring every inch of the body he had imagined a thousand times over, an active imagination hardly even comparing to the reality. He would drop to his knees, take his cock into his mouth while he played with his own, bringing himself back to hardness… 

Will could hear the door swing open, and the stuttering of breath. He didn’t stop as his eyes found Hannibal’s, the sight of him only spurring him on further. His hair hung over his forehead, still dripping. He wore nothing but a towel around his waist and a shocked expression, not quite expecting to find what he’d found. Will Graham, sprawled across the bed with a hand down his pants, the movements beneath his jeans painfully obvious. 

A moment passed, and another, and Hannibal stood frozen, staring at the spectacle sprawled across stained sheets. Just a second too long, and Will figured that it was a bad idea. A horrible lapse in judgment. 

And then Hannibal took a step toward him.

And another, and another. For a moment, Will swore he saw something predatory in those eyes, like a hunter seeking after his prey. Itching teeth, seeking purchase within his skin as he stripped him free of the fabric confines. Fingers like claws spreading him open before burying himself deep within him, rough with him. Animalistic and hungry, seeking to devour as Will spread his legs wider... 

But, rather than climbing into the bed, rather than slamming him against dirty sheets and plowing him rough and deep, his eyes tore away and he turned toward the suitcase on the floor. Will pulled his hand from his jeans without a word, watching as he gathered up his clothes, drawing them quickly to his chest before escaping back to the bathroom. 

Will felt the heat rising to his cheeks, shame rising up in his chest. He supposed he had gotten his answer without so much as a word. And this would end just as the kiss had, without another word of it, and wondering if it had ever even happened in the first place. 

He pulled his knees up to his chest, tucking his face between them as he let out a groan. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He raised his head again as the door swung open, Hannibal moving all too quickly. Hannibal rarely moved with such haste, even in life spent on the run. He was a man who prided himself upon composure, and yet he seemed stripped and bare as he moved too quickly across the threshold. Slacks and leather, refusing to meet his eyes as he moved toward the door. 

Will’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of him, though.

Barely discernible at the pace he was walking, but he could see it through his slacks. Will had only seen such obscenities in the moments before Hannibal woke up, when there was no hope of hiding or controlling himself. Will had admired it through his clothes on many occasions, wondering what it would feel like to have it splitting him open, how heavy it would feel in his mouth. It was so often the subject of his fantasies that it took him no time at all to recognize it. 

Hannibal was hard. 

Hard didn’t even seem to cover it. Even in dark slacks with an obvious attempt at hiding it, Will could make out the stark outline of his cock. He was rock-fucking-solid. 

It hardly made any sense. Time after time, Will had invited him in, to fall between his legs, to consummate whatever it was that they had. And time and time again, he had been denied without so much as a word, each subtle attempt shot down without so much as addressing the situation. And now, he was storming out with a hard-on rather than taking the thing that he wanted. 

It made no goddamn sense. But, then again, Hannibal rarely did. 

Will waited until Hannibal left the room to follow after him, buttoning his jeans and straightening his shirt as he trailed after him, like a puppy following its master, begging his attention. Pitiful, to want him so badly, to cling so pathetically to an idea that Hannibal had denied him time and time again. Still, he couldn’t help himself but to follow. He had followed him halfway across the world, across oceans and seas, across the country and through foreign lands. And he would follow him here. 

Hannibal stood just outside, leaning across the railing with a cigarette hanging from his lips, a sight strong enough to make his cock jump beneath his boxers. A work of art, the cigarette dangling easily from his lips, stars reflected in his eyes, a sight beautiful enough to make him wax poetic, enough to rob him of what little dignity he could still hold claim to and force him down to his knees. _Calm down._

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Will said plainly, meandering closer, leaning over the porch railing alongside him. 

He watched has Hannibal drew it from his lips, the smoke spilling from between his lips and filling the air between them. Dark eyes gazed up toward the stars, Hannibal not even daring to look him in the eye. That was a rarity. If for nothing but the sake of politeness, Hannibal always looked him in the eye when they spoke, nothing if not perfectly polite. He always held him captive in his gaze, but now he couldn’t even be bothered to glance his way. 

“Rarely,” he said before taking another puff. 

“When you’re horny?” 

The words slipped out before he had time to process them, but he didn’t bother with trying to take them back. He could feel Hannibal’s eyes turn to him as he looked away, suddenly the one not wanting to make eye contact. Will had always been a bit rougher around the edges, but even he was rarely so blunt. 

“I can see the way you looked at me. You’ve still got a hard-on. You just won’t do anything about it.” He didn’t look at Hannibal as he said it, staring down at his hands. “Why?” 

For the first time, Hannibal was rendered speechless. He supposed that he had known such questions would come for him eventually, and yet the words of explanation would never come to his lips. How could he phrase it without coming off as unspeakably rude? How could he restrain himself? 

Will didn’t really have to ask, though. He already knew. 

He had began to wonder after his first sly attempts at seduction. When they had failed, when Hannibal moved away from him so abruptly, he began to wonder if that one thing was the reason. It had cost him plenty of potential lovers before, so he supposed he couldn’t be so surprised when it cost him this one too. 

There was no malice in him. He had known that the appeal might die out when Hannibal found out. Though, Will wasn’t quite certain how long he’d known. He would’ve pieced it together long ago, surely. Pieced it together by the scars across his chest, or by the needle marks across his thighs, or by peeking at his medical records, or by the very scent of him. He was a doctor. He would piece it together quickly, certainly. Perhaps it had been off the table as long as he had known. Maybe it wasn’t his fault. 

“It’s the trans thing, isn’t it?” Will sighed, burying his face in his hands. 

Will had learned to love himself for what he was, to the best of his abilities, but there would always be times when he wished he had been born in a cis man’s body. Maybe it would make it easier for Hannibal to want him, make the experience altogether a little easier to swallow. But it wasn’t unheard of to be turned away by the prospect. He and Hannibal had shared such a connection that he had assumed it wouldn’t matter, but perhaps he had hoped too much from him. Perhaps he had been wrong. 

“Not in the way that you are assuming,” Hannibal protested quietly, eyes turning to meet him, fingers reaching to graze over Will’s flesh, pulling his hands away from his eyes. He wanted to see him. Wanted him to see. 

Will turned to meet his eyes, finding something almost resembling remorse beneath them. Not the eyes of a man who did not want him, but the eyes of a man who sought to understand. The eyes of a man who wanted more. 

“I’ve never been with a man of your… status,” he said, holding eye contact only as long as he could manage before returning the cigarette to his teeth. He let out a sigh, the smoke gathering before them before vanishing into the wind. “I find myself… uncertain, of how to approach you.” 

Will let out half a laugh, a small chuckle as he shook his head. He had never thought of Hannibal as someone to run from his problems or confusions, though, he supposed, there were few things in this world that struck him as intimidating. Funny, how something as simple as his junk was enough to take him aback. 

“You could’ve asked,” he chuckled. 

“I feared that I would… Offend you,” he sighed before taking another long drag. 

He paused. Offense. Silly thing to be afraid of, coming from Hannibal. Will still bore the scars of what Hannibal would consider love. One thin line marked his forehead, another jagged scar dragged across his torso. Such violations would mark his flesh until the day death came calling for him and even after. Only buried in a shallow grave would he be free of the marks left upon him, when the worms chewed through his flesh. When the worms crawled through his skin, devouring him in his decay, until his bones began to rot and the worms were all that remained. He would bear the marks of Hannibal’s love until nothing remained of him but the shit of worms, returned to dust and soil. Marked with scars and blades, and Hannibal feared offending him with one misplaced word. 

“You’ve done worse.” 

Hannibal’s eyes turned down in shame, not daring to look him in the eye as he took another long drag of the cigarette, surely scarring his lungs. He wouldn’t have appreciated the taste of his own meat after this. He’d complained about smoke-stained lungs in the past, never caring for the taste of smokers. Surely, it must have taken a bit of cognitive dissonance. Surely, many things must have taken some cognitive dissonance. Or perhaps he thought all of it mere inconvenience. Just as inconvenient as it had been for him to fall in love with the thing that he sought to devour, like the man partial to beef’s inconvenient love for the cow.

Perhaps there was some guilt for what he had done to him, in the same way the butcher in love with the cow would feel remorse for the slices taken from her flesh. He wondered what emotions the scar across his abdomen would provoke, what would run through his mind as he leaned down to run his lips over the jagged line where the flesh had mended and come together again, in the same way the shattered teacup had gathered itself together again. He wondered if there would be tears, or if Hannibal even held the capacity for emotions such as that. He wondered… 

“I forgive you,” Will said, voice soft. “I forgave you a long time ago.” 

There would always be bitterness toward him. There would always be the reminder of what had been done to him. It would never go away in its entirety, but it would fade away enough so that love and hate could coexist. The wounds that had been left had healed, scabbed over and scarred, but he still bore the marks of what was done to him. 

“You don’t have to be afraid to touch me. I’ve been practically begging for it for two weeks, now,” he remarked, something of a breathy chuckle in his voice as he leaned closer. “You could have asked me.” 

Hannibal inhaled slowly, cigarette hanging limply between two fingers. 

“You have made it clear that you want me. That you’re ready for physical intimacy. In what way do you want me?” A glance was exchanged, but little more. “I would not want to overstep any boundaries.” 

“Your mouth, first,” he said. That was how his fantasies always played out, with that mouth sucking against his t-cock, driving him to completion multiple times before letting go. “Maybe I’d let you inside of me later on. I don’t really get wet anymore, not very often, so we would have to use lube. But...” 

His fantasies had ventured into penetration more than once, but those were just fantasies. He hadn’t actually used his front hole since before he’d transition. He’d only been with girls since high school, never having much of an opportunity for penetration anyway. Now, he wanted it, but such leaps and bounds in intimacy could not be taken so recklessly, so quickly. No, better to wait. 

“I don’t think I’m ready for that. Not yet,” he confessed. “For now, I think I just want your mouth.” 

It occurred to him a moment later that his fantasies were generally selfish, without as much regard for the pleasure brought to Hannibal. Occasionally the salty taste of pre-come and skin on his tongue would invade his imagination, but the idea was a rare one. However, not one that he was particularly against. In no way against it, really. The thought of his cock, fat and heavy, thrusting into his jaws… 

“I’ll return the favor, of course,” he corrected himself quickly. 

“Only if you wish,” Hannibal offered. “It would bring me no greater pleasure than to simply see you writhing beneath my tongue. To feel you spend yourself within my mouth, to see you spent and sated beneath me. To watch you squirm and moan as I suck you into overstimulation, until there is nothing on your tongue but my name. It would bring me no greater joy. Reciprocation is unnecessary, unless you truly want to give it to me” 

Even in the pale moonlight, Will could make out the hard outline of his cock. In the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights, he could see his cock jump, twitching hard within his slacks at the very idea. Will gulped, feeling his own cock twitch in sympathy. 

“Dirty talk, out here where anyone can hear,” Will teased. “Never pegged you as the exhibitionist type, Dr. Lecter.” 

His voice came out in a growl. “I’m sure I would surprise you in many of my… proclivities.” 

Will’s breath caught in his throat, heart quickening in his chest. Proclivity and taboo would go hand-in-hand with the infamous Dr. Lecter. His tastes were never exactly traditional, and there was no reason for him to believe that his tastes would vary from dining room to the bedroom. Always one for the forbidden. 

He couldn’t say that he was surprised, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t intrigued. There was something arousing in leather and pain, something intriguing in whips and chains. Their relationship had been built in blood and agony, there was no reason why this would wait at the threshold of the bedroom. 

“Kinky, then,” Will said, tucking his hands into his jeans. Intrigued as he was, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anxiety. How far would Hannibal push him? How far was he willing to go?

“Not at first,” he assured. “For now, I want to savor you. I want to taste you, touch you… I want to learn every inch of your body.” 

_For now._

Will felt something leap within him, something jolting him awake. It was no longer just talk of sex, but action would soon follow. Hannibal wanted to touch him, to study every inch of his skin, to open him like a book and memorize every line. To memorize each divot and scar, each curve and each line of him, to store the mold of his body within his fingertips. He was practically buzzing at the prospect. 

Will turned to face him, reaching for his hands, taking them in his own. Dark eyes found his, illuminated only by stars and streetlights and the light at the end of his cigarette. Something between relief and thrill settled in his belly, jumping up into his chest. 

“Come on,” Will said, taking the cigarette from between his lips and putting it out in the ashtray that stood outside the door. Slowly, he pulled him toward the threshold, guiding him toward the bed. He’d waited long enough for this. “Let me teach you.” 

He fell back slowly against the sex-stained sheets, pulling Hannibal over top of him, savoring the weight against his body. Hannibal’s legs straddled his thighs, pressed strong against him as he reached down to claim his lips, stealing gentle kisses beneath the soft light of the bedside lamp. 

It was soft, and it was slow, the way that Hannibal moved. Will could feel the restraint in his bones, the desire to tear him apart just barely contained beneath the surface. But instead, he took him apart slowly, stripping him of his shirt first, discarding it into the corner before turning his eyes back toward him. 

Three scars marked him there. Two across his chest, one across his abdomen. The two across his chest were long faded, thin white lines marking the place where they’d removed the flesh that hung like weights. It had been fifteen years since he’d been freed of those burdens, freedom coming at the age of 24. Surgical and mostly healed now, faint reminders marked across his flesh as a reminder of where he’d come from. 

The one across his abdomen was messier, though. Still pink, still jagged, still raised. It had been nearly four years, and it was still prominent against pale, soft flesh. The markings of Hannibal’s version of love, toxic and angry and red. Maybe there was change to be found, maybe something beyond betrayal and hatred and obsession and desire. 

Or maybe not. 

Maybe it was worth it either way. 

Hannibal pulled away, eyes gazing down upon the marks that he had left upon him. Something poetic to be said, some reference to some obscure eighteenth-century philosopher, something pretentious and romantic. But instead, there was silence. He sat above him, straddling his thighs, hands pulled away. Afraid to touch. Guilty, maybe. 

“Hey,” Will breathed softly, reaching to take his hand in his own. He guided it to his lips, pressing a kiss against his palm, meeting dark eyes in the warm yellow glow. Dark eyes that came alive, alight in his captive gaze. “It’s okay.” 

He moved Hannibal’s hand, allowing it to rest over the scar that he had been marked with. The eternal reminder of what had been done to him, the eternal reminder of the bond that they shared. 

“You can touch me,” he murmured, drawing him closer. Another kiss stolen, and another, and another. 

Hannibal’s fingers didn’t venture past the waistband, instead opting to run his thumb over the scar, over and over again, as if to memorize its ridges and length, its expanse over his stomach. Will pushed himself closer as he felt Hannibal’s bulge press hard against his thigh, rubbing desperately though too many layers of clothing, teasing for far too long. 

Will pulled back, head pushed against the pillows has he reached up, pulling back the jacket that Hannibal wore, tossing it aside. The jacket, then his shirt, bare from the waist up. 

His fingers grazed over his skin, tracing over his flesh with the reverence of a god, bowing to worship beneath him. Perhaps Hannibal was not too far from godhood, in actuality. Two scars marked his wrists, another marking his side, marking him in the same way the messiah had been marked when hung upon a tree. Will was staring up at his very own Emmanuel, and traced his flesh with the same amount of reverence. 

Hannibal’s fingers curled over Will’s wrists, pushing them into the pillows as he leaned down to claim his lips again, grinding slowly up against him. Will could feel Hannibal’s cock twitching against his thigh, and his own twitched in sympathy, longing for something more than the agonizing grind, never able to reach completion. 

Will let his fingers snake between them, tugging at the buckle of Hannibal’s belt, and then the button. Zipper undone, briefs pulled aside, until his cock sprung free against Will’s belly, rubbing hot against bare flesh as Hannibal’s hips instinctively began to thrust, craving the friction of his skin. 

“Kick these off,” Will said. He didn’t want any more obstruction. He wanted to see him in his full. 

Hannibal obeyed silently, kicking them into the corner before resuming his place, straddling his thighs, cock perched against the downy patch of hair that led just beneath his waistband. Will could feel the pre-come clinging in the hair there, leaving him damp and marked with the clear, sticky fluid dripping from Hannibal’s cock. His breath hitched in his throat. 

Will curled his fingers tight around his length, giving him a cautious, small pump, drawing a quiet moan to Hannibal’s lips. He took the opportunity of Hannibal’s distracted voice to glance down between them, watching the small, jerking thrusts of his cock in his hand. 

The first thing that registered was the foreskin. His cock was different than any that he had seen before, even in porn. He had some basic knowledge of what an uncut cock would look like, but the very mechanics of it had Will practically drooling as he watched, his own cock twitching between his legs. He watched, mesmerized as his foreskin engulfed the ruddy head of his weeping cock before it reemerged in his hand. Part of him wanted to sink to his knees and take it in his mouth, tongue sweeping beneath the foreskin, tasting at the pre-come gathered there… 

The second thing that registered was the very length and girth of his cock. He was thick, heavy, fucking hung. Even in a body designed to take cock, Will wondered how the hell it would ever fit inside of him. Copious amounts of preparation would be necessary, certainly, even in his front hole. He didn’t get very wet anymore, and he hadn’t taken anything inside of him for quite some time. Hannibal would have to work him open slowly before fucking him, spread him wide, until he was open enough to take it… 

_Fuck._

Will inhaled sharply, continuing to work around his cock. His thumb swept over the head in the upstroke, pre-come drenching his fingers. Hannibal was fucking soaked, producing more pre-come than he thought even possible. Something to do with the foreskin, probably. He felt himself twitching hard, body aching for friction at the filthy sight between them. 

He could feel Hannibal’s cock twitch and spasm, taking sharp satisfaction in the knowledge that this was for him. The physical reaction, the groans and growls escaping Hannibal’s lips, it was all for him. All because of him. 

Will felt a sudden compulsion to do something out of the realm of his typical proclivity. He moved his hand away from his length, drawing a sharp whine from Hannibal’s lips, and he waited for him to open his eyes. The moment eyes met, Will ran a tongue over his hand, lapping at the pre-come that had gathered over his fingers. He was slow, methodical, each finger taken in with special attention as the earthy slick gathered on his tongue and he grew to appreciate the taste. 

He watched as the hunger grew in Hannibal’s eyes, just barely restrained. What it must have done to him, to watch part of himself consumed by the man pinned beneath him. What hunger must have sparked in his belly, to consume and devour him whole in whatever form he deemed fit. 

Instead of words, his answer came in the form of ravenous fingers working at the button of his jeans and pulling them open before stalling. 

Will let out a sharp gasp at Hannibal’s sudden roughness, feeling his cock twitching beneath the cotton cages of his boxers. He wondered if Hannibal could make out the outline of his cock through white cotton, if he could see him twitching. Will had always counted himself as blessed to have as much growth as he had, nearly a full four inches erect. Maybe Hannibal could make out what was beneath. 

Hannibal’s strong hand clasped tight around his wrist, pulling his hand to his lips. Will let out a shuddered gasp as his tongue dragged across the palm of his hand, over his fingers, wetting him before pulling his hand between his own legs. Will obeyed without protest as Hannibal pushed his hand, slicked with his saliva, down into his boxers. 

“Touch yourself for me,” Hannibal growled, voice gruff and gravelly and hungry. “Like you did on the boat. I want to watch you come.” 

Will felt his heart seize in his chest, heat blooming across his face and chest. Humiliation spread through him, the humiliation of knowing that he had been caught playing with himself. The blush blooming across his flesh did not go unnoticed by Hannibal, and would not go unexploited. 

Hannibal leaned over him, nosing at the crook of his neck. One palm pressed flat over Will’s, separated only by the fabric of his boxers, coaxing movement, demanding that he touch himself now. 

“You thought I didn’t realize what you were doing, on the boat,” Hannibal breathed, breath hot against his neck. “Thought me to be asleep while you played with yourself. I listened, though, Will. I heard you whimper and strangle your moans. I want to hear you this time.” 

Will let out a whine, bucking up into his own touch. He knew how to make himself come, but the added weight of Hannibal’s hand drew him damn close to the edge. He bucked up against the palm of his hand, rutting like an animal in heat. 

Perhaps that was precisely what he was. Reduced to animalistic tendencies, nothing more than his most basic of instincts, his most primal of urges. The two of them were little more than beasts, may as well fuck like it. Will tossed his head back, pressing up into the pressure applied roughly to his cock. 

He preferred stroking himself with two, sometimes three fingers, gently teasing up around the head, until he pulled himself into orgasm. He rarely found himself rutting and grinding in the way he did now, movements sloppy and desperate and rough. But under Hannibal’s dictate, he would do just about anything, even as undignified and needy as he felt. 

Maybe the humiliation was part of it. 

“Tell me, dear boy,” Hannibal said, voice uneven and shaky as his hand began to move in time with Will’s, in part guided and guiding, the two working in harmony as they brought Will to pleasure. “What thoughts brought you to your completion?” 

“Your cock,” he sputtered out, voice coming out in a whine as Hannibal’s hand began to guide Will’s from beneath the fabric, coaxing him to pick up the speed. “Your cock, pushing inside of me. It made me come so hard, just thinking about it.” 

Will was whimpering, sweat beading across his forehead as his cock twitched again just thinking about it. About Hannibal pulling his legs apart, settling in between them, his cock pressed wet against his hole. About him slathering the entire area in his pre-come, making certain that he was slicked and open enough to take his length and girth before pressing in further, pushing himself into the hilt, until Will was full to bursting.

“Where?” he asked, drawing him from his fantasies, demanding that they spill from his lips instead. 

“My front hole. You’d use your mouth, first. Mouth and fingers, getting me wet and opening me up. Then you’d - _ah, ah, fuck_ \- you’d put your - _fuck!”_ His face twisted up and eyes clenched shut, and he could feel the muscles inside of him beginning to contract with his approaching orgasm. He wondered if Hannibal could feel him twitch and flutter from above the thin fabric.

“I would put my _what,_ William?” he insisted, demanding he describe every gritty detail. 

Will gasped, voice catching in his throat as a high-pitched whine escaped his lips. Hannibal took control of the pace of his hand, forcing him to stroke faster, harder, more vigorously against his cock. Will bucked up against his palm, dark curls dripping with sweat against the pillow, staining the sheets with the scent of fresh sex against that had been washed and faded.

Will forced his eyes to open, finding Hannibal hovering over him. He stared down at him like a predator, starving for the prey trapped beneath him. His eyes were hungry, and the leaking of his cock against Will’s thigh served as evidence of his arousal. Hannibal ached for him, hard and leaking at the very sight of Will’s pleasure.

“I would put my _what, William?”_ he demanded again, his fingers moving faster, more roughly as Will approached his climax, demanding his voice, demanding his answer. 

_“You’d put your cock inside of me,”_ Will cried out in a ragged sob. 

The very image was what pushed him over the edge and into orgasm. Hannibal hovering over him, pressed all the way into the hilt, pausing for just a moment to claim his lips before setting a rigorous pace. He’d thrust hard, fast, spearing into him as though his body was made solely to take his cock inside of him. He’d rub himself against Will’s cock, until he was reduced to moaning and weeping and praying until Hannibal spilled himself inside of him… 

His cock twitched hard, sputtering and softening against his hand, until Hannibal relented his pressure and set his hand free. Will tugged his hand out of his pants, but Hannibal’s hand didn’t move quite so quickly, instead opting to cup his sex in one hand. Will knew that he could feel him twitching, contracting and convulsing in the afterglow of his orgasm. His hands remained gentle, still, simply pressed between his legs, savoring the feeling of his cock softening and the fluttering of flesh after orgasm. 

Will slumped against the bed, suddenly very near the brink of exhaustion, sleepy and content. But, as always, Will had a feeling that Hannibal wasn’t quite done with him yet.

Hannibal’s fingers worked gently against the outside of his boxers, fingers squeezing and stroking gently at the mound between his thighs. It was as if he were making an attempt to coax some kind of reaction, to rouse him from his sex-drugged stupor, to force him to harden again against his palm. 

He vaguely registered as Hannibal stripped him of his jeans, leaving him in nothing more than his boxers. He vaguely registered as Hannibal stilled above him, pausing, letting a finger drift along the elastic waistband, and not daring to dip further. 

“What?” Will asked softly, unsure of what he was waiting for. 

“Your fantasies overcome you, William. I could bring them to life, if you would allow it,” he said, voice half trembling with his own lusts, half uncertain. “I can feel your twitch and flutter and ache to have me inside of you. I could put my cock inside of you. I could fuck you, if you allowed me.” 

Will gulped down hard. It was tempting, to say yes, to draw Hannibal’s length into his most intimate flesh, to let him rut and thrust into him until he came inside of him, marking him in a way to cause less damage than in scars and blood. It was tempting to draw his legs around his waist and pull him into his body, until he slid into the hilt, conjoined in body and soul. Temptations, temptations. 

But he decided against it. Condoms would be necessary. Testosterone wasn’t an effective form of birth control, and while he’d likely nuked his reproductive organs long ago, he knew better than to risk an accidental pregnancy, knew better than to risk breeding. Lubrication would be necessity too, Will’s body no longer reacting like a woman’s, rarely getting wet enough to take more than a finger without discomfort. 

And then there was the issue of letting him into his body at all. 

Such conjoinment, such marking, such intimacy would take more trust than Will was willing to offer up. Sex was one thing, but penetration was another. No one had breached him in such a way in years, and to allow him here, now… 

No. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. 

“Not this time,” he finally settled, rolling his hips up to grind against Hannibal’s palm. “We can still… Do stuff, though. We can keep going.” 

Hannibal gave a small nod, but held still. He didn’t push him further into the bed, didn’t tear at his boxers, but rather chose to linger, eyes trained upon him, hand still stroking against the cotton. He didn’t look upset at the rejection, didn’t seem angry or saddened. Just… Unsure, maybe. 

“What is it?” Will inquired softly. 

“I just…” His voice trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it, unsure of how to ask. 

He was unsure of what to expect. He could see it in Hannibal’s eyes, feel it in the apprehension of his fingers as his strokes slowed to a stop, rather opting to simply cup against his sex. Hannibal, in all his arrogance and surety of self, was uncertain. 

Will almost felt proud of himself. He was the only man able to render the silver-tongued devil speechless, able to make the man who walked as a god unsure of himself, all with no more than his mere existence. 

He would have figured that Hannibal would have known the intricacies of his anatomy at a textbook level, at least. He had been a doctor at one point, and Will knew that he certainly wasn’t the only transgender person he had come across in his days. He would’ve figured that Hannibal knew what to expect at a medical level, at least. And maybe he did. Maybe he just wanted the instruction. 

Maybe he just wanted to hear him say it. 

“I’ve been on T for almost twenty years,” Will mumbled, still only barely awake, the endorphins from his last orgasm pulling him toward sleep. “It, uh… It makes the clitoris kinda… Enlarge, so it looks like a tiny dick.” 

Hannibal took in his words as though they were coming from the mouth of god, eyes held captive as Will sleepily explained the functions of his biology. Medical curiosity, maybe, but more likely a curiosity of a more sexual nature. 

“I get hard, too,” he said, shifting into a sitting position, pulling his legs out from underneath Hannibal. Will wanted him to spread his legs wide, to lay between them and take his cock in his mouth until he was hard again, forcing him to spend in his mouth, until he was squirming with oversensitivity. “What else do you want to know?” 

“Tell me how you like to be pleasured,” he said. Vague enough. 

“Your mouth. Your tongue.” 

His cock began to harden again in interest at the very words tumbling from his lips. He rarely came more than once anymore, too sensitive after orgasm to go for a round two. But Hannibal had him hardening again already, wanting more, aching for it. 

He twitched hard as Hannibal’s fingers dipped carefully into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down slowly to reveal Will’s cock. Hannibal gazed down at him in admiration, mouth hung slightly agape, as though staring down at the face of god himself. 

Will inhaled slowly as Hannibal dipped between his legs, settling himself against the rumpled sheets, hips giving a small thrust against them in some urge for friction. He forced himself to still, though, settling between his thighs, pressing small, reverent kisses against the sensitive flesh. 

“You’d suck it like you’d suck a cock. It’s not like a woman’s clitoris.” Will shifted slightly as Hannibal rested his hands against his legs, pulling his knees apart. “The head’s even more sensitive than the head of a dick. Feels great, but don’t overdo it. Keep your tongue underneath and just above the head. That’s what feels really good,” he explained quietly, breathing unsteady as he began to squirm.

Hannibal stilled and opted to stare for a moment, breath hot against the pink flesh, the teasing leaving Will achingly hard again. He stared, mesmerized by the twitch and fill of Will’s cock, marveling at him like something designed by the gods themselves. _Melodramatic prick._

“Beautiful,” Hannibal murmured, breath hot against his flesh, cock twitching again in response. 

“Shut up,” Will said. His tone was light, if a bit bossy, growing impatient. “C’mon, don’t make me wait for it.” 

Hannibal was always one for the dramatic, and Will had imagined foreplay alone with at least two hours of begging, but he opted to give him what he wanted this time. 

His tongue slipped between the pink folds of flesh, gently probing at the underside of his cock. His licks were tentative, softly dragging along his flesh before reaching his head, circling for only a moment before returning to just beneath it. 

Too gentle, too kind with him, too slow. Will let out a soft whine, bearing himself down in an attempt to draw his tongue in harder. He was hardly in the mood for teasing tonight, knowing that if given the opportunity, Hannibal would take his time, edging him over and over until the sun rose. He wanted more.

Needed more. 

But in his futile attempts at control in the situation, Hannibal pressed his forearm down against his waist, forcing him still. Squirmy as he was, Hannibal kept him down, determined to take his time with him. Determined to _savor_ him. As though his body were a feast deliberately laid out before him, and he was bound to take in every morsel. 

“Fuck, Han,” Will breathed, breath hitching as Hannibal’s tongue licked and teased. “C’mon, _please.”_

Will bucked and whined against Hannibal’s firm grasp, begging for more than the teasing circles he licked around his cock, and, in a rare act of submission, he complied. Will figured that rules and discipline would eventually follow this evening’s escapade, but tonight, Hannibal would give him what he wanted. 

Will let out a soft cry as Hannibal’s lips wrapped around him, sucking against his growth. He fell back hard against the pillows, falling lax against them as Hannibal began to suckle against him, tongue circling his cock, movements rhythmic and calculated. 

It was quiet. 

So much of their relationship had been violent, loud, without much room for peace. Atrocity after atrocity, blood soaked through the skin and staining against the flesh. But in his mouth there came a remedy, a cure to soothe the soul in easy rhapsody. In hotel sheets came easy clarity, the suck and pull of his tongue against his cock offering a moment’s peace. A moment’s silence. 

His moans were soft, quiet as Hannibal drew him deeper into his mouth. Will wouldn’t be able to reach the back of his throat, to choke him in the way that he might have if he were born with the right parts. But the ridges of the roof of his mouth were enough to drive him wild, and the gentle coaxing of his tongue pulled him closer toward the brink of his climax. 

Hannibal let out a soft moan around his cock as it twitched and throbbed on his tongue. Will could feel the hum of vocal cords vibrating against him, sending thrills through the entire area, up into his body. His fists gripped tighter at the sheets, head thrown back in his ecstasy, throbbing and aching for his second release of the evening, wanting to spend himself in Hannibal’s mouth. 

He felt something he hadn’t felt in quite some time. The gush of his body’s natural lubrication, wetness pouring hot and thick between his legs. Unexpected, and not going unnoticed by Hannibal. 

He pulled his mouth away for a mere moment, gazing down upon what he must have considered his handiwork. His cock, swollen and throbbing and twitching with his need for his release. His hole, slick and fluttering, the contraction and dilation of his muscles awaiting a penetration that wouldn’t be coming tonight. Will could sense the smug pride in his eyes. 

“You’re wet,” Hannibal murmured.

Once, the words might have triggered dysphoria. But dysphoria was a rarity these days, and Will felt nothing more than arousal at his words. The very statement, the very acknowledgement that he was wet was enough to pull more fluid from his hole, leaving him dripping. 

“Wet for me,” Hannibal sighed before dipping down and pressing a tongue against his most intimate place, just above his weeping hole, letting the clear fluid gather against his tongue. 

Will’s breath hitched as Hannibal turned his attention toward the entirety of the area. Tongue dipping into his front hole before returning to suck against his cock, and back again. His tongue pressed flat against his sex, slicking the entire area. 

_“Han, fuck,_ I’m gonna come,” he whined as Hannibal’s lips returned to his cock, taking him in full as he began to suck him harder, as if trying to pull his orgasm from him. “You’re gonna make me come, Han, gonna come inside your mouth.” 

He couldn’t ejaculate, but Hannibal could still gain the satisfaction of the twitch and throb inside of his mouth, and that was precisely what he did. 

Will’s grunts and cries turned to a sharp whine as his release came beneath the scrutiny of Hannibal’s mouth. His cock jerked and throbbed against his tongue in a futile attempt at ejaculation, and in his wild imagination, he could almost feel some imagined seed spill against the back of Hannibal’s throat. The wetness leaked from his front hole as it twitched and contracted, and Will could almost imagine Hannibal’s cock inside of him as it happened, milking his orgasm from him. His back arched hard against the bed, staining the pillowcases with the scent of his sweat, the sheets with the scent of his sex. 

Hannibal’s tongue continued to work against the pink flesh until Will let out a pitiful whine in overstimulation. Later, he decided, they would explore such sensitivities, exploit them until Hannibal had him coming three, four, five times in the course of the evening. 

For now, though, Will fell limp against the sheets, fucked out and content, vaguely registering as Hannibal slid up beside him, pulling the sheets over them. He vaguely registered as Hannibal pulled his limp form up against his chest, pulling his thighs apart ever so slightly, just enough to take his throbbing length between them. His pre-come spread tacky against Will’s thighs, mixing with the saliva and the fluid that had already gathered there. Will inhaled slowly, registering Hannibal’s hardness between his thighs. 

“I can… I can, uh… I can suck you off too, or I can just… Just, give me a minute,” Will offered, hardly able to keep his own eyes open as he offered it. 

“Tonight was about you, _mylimasis,”_ Hannibal instead insisted, pressing a small kiss just behind his ear. “Next time I come, I will be buried deep inside of you.” 

Will nuzzled back against him, allowing himself to inch closer toward sleep. “That might be awhile. I don’t… I don’t know when I’ll be ready to let you inside of me.” 

“Dear boy,” he murmured. “I am a patient man.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me with some love if you enjoyed it. Comments give me life.


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